Another "first" pet and its sad demise

For the inspiration behind this blog click here.
For more "first pets" memories click here and here.

Well what a strange start to the week I've had. Oh, did you have a good weekend by the way. I did, chilling out with some friends over a few glasses of wine does wonders.

Well, its Monday again already and when I got into the office, after most of last week being away on a course, to find that tomorrow is "bring your dog to work day". Yes, you read me correctly, bring your dog to work. It's a "national" day apparently and we've got 11 dogs coming in, with their owners, and a host of related events going on through the day to raise money for charity. Imagine, dog walking for £3 - its supposed to be a calming influence apparently, but I can't help imaging the poor sod who gets the dog that needs a number two. Its dog walking with good old shopping bags at the rady for the dog poo disposal!

Sheer madness!

Anyway, it reminded me that I promised some more stories from the "macho men" and their first pet - the doggy stories. So here's a sad tale from a good friend of ours.....

Ricky

Ricky was our dog. He was an Alsatian and I loved taking him on walks near the beach. He was one of those dogs that loved fetching sticks and we used to wind him up by pretending we’d thrown a stick. Of course the dog would go bounding off after nothing, turn around and go daft with barking. Great way to make a dog dizzy isn’t it!

One afternoon I was walking down by the beach road – it had a high wall on the edge of the pavement, leading down to a steep embankment to the beach itself. It was quite a high wall. Ricky was in the mood for some play and I was chucking a stick for him to fetch. Then I teased him by throwing the imaginary stick. I didn’t think. I just threw my arm out and Ricky leapt up for the “stick”. He jumped straight over the wall and disappeared.

I can still see it, almost as if it’s in slow motion. Dumb dog.

I looked over the wall and he was lying at the bottom of this huge drop. I ran round the path and down onto the beach, crying. Ricky, how could I have done this to Ricky! I was only about twelve and I picked that dumb dog up in my hands and carried him back up to the road, my arms aching with the weight. He was still breathing, but didn’t look too great. I half stumbled, running to the vet’s which luckily wasn’t that far away. But he never made it. I was devastated. I had killed Ricky, our dog, since, since well forever.